


Camp Rome

by rhye



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2011-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:56:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhye/pseuds/rhye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Remus kills Severus and is sent to an internment camp in his fourth year at Hogwarts. James never forgives Sirius, and Sirius transfers to Durmstrang. At the end of the war, Sirius and Remus strike up an unlikely friendship that rapidly becomes something much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://rs-games.livejournal.com/profile)[**rs_games**](http://rs-games.livejournal.com/) 2011 Team Sirius, Prompt: 19 - "It is not down in any map; true places never are." - Herman Melville and originally posted [here](http://rs-games.livejournal.com/112101.html).
> 
>  **Warnings:** Hard drug use, Major character illness, Major character death, Suicide, (Off-screen) Noncon  
>  **Thanks:** Thanks so much to [](http://brighty18.livejournal.com/profile)[**brighty18**](http://brighty18.livejournal.com/) who used her valuable time to for me, and to [](http://mindabbles.livejournal.com/profile)[**mindabbles**](http://mindabbles.livejournal.com/) who volunteered to do so before her computer exploded. Thanks also to [](http://dogsunderfoot.livejournal.com/profile)[**dogsunderfoot**](http://dogsunderfoot.livejournal.com/) for talking me down off a ledge when the going got tough. Finally, thank you to the LJ community [](http://ficfinishing.livejournal.com/profile)[**ficfinishing**](http://ficfinishing.livejournal.com/)

It was a simple mistake, but it changed _everything_. If I could take it back, I would. If I could take it back, I’m sure Remus and I would be living in a Chelsea flat. James and Lily would bring their sprog around on Sunday evenings. I ruined that. _I_ ruined that. I ruined _everything_ the night I told Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow.

There is still, however, a Chelsea flat involved. It’s where I sleep. I might have said that it’s where I live, except what I do there could hardly be called living. I do shower from time to time, and I always shaved before my visits to the Camp. I eat, I drink-- perhaps much more than I should. I used to do the harder stuff, snorted a Muggle drug once-- heroin-- but Remus put an end to all that. I had to stay alive, he said. For him.

Ah, Remus. This brings us around to the story I was planning to tell in the first place.

Everyone in the Wizarding world has heard by now of the famous case of the Hogwarts Werewolf, I’m sure. The Hogwarts Werewolf and Remus Lupin are the very same. Anyone who was alive and aware during the scandalous events of Spring 1975 will likely recall the story of how a Hogwarts student came to be killed by another, the latter being a werewolf that Dumbledore had, in full knowledge of his condition, admitted into the school. The press was eager to call Remus-- a best friend of mine at the time-- a monster, but I was the real monster. I was the one who had set it all up.

It really is impossible to guess how things could have gone differently if Severus Snape hadn’t been killed. He really was a bad sort, and I have no doubt he would have fallen in with the Dark Lord’s legions eventually, but despite that, the evil I brought about by this thoughtless action far exceeds any good I can claim it to have had.

The real after-effects were threefold. First, my best mate James Potter ceased speaking to me. He did not go so far as to turn me over to Dumbledore and hence get me kicked out of school, but I hardly could have blamed him if he had done. As it was, I was so ashamed and alone at Hogwarts that I transferred to Durmstrang for my fifth through seventh years. It wasn’t a bad place. I did make friends there, and was able to leave much of my looming guilt behind me for a time. However, I was unable to simply forget the past because of the third-- and most grievous-- result of my thoughtlessness. Remus Lupin was not only ejected from Hogwarts, but incarcerated in an internment camp for werewolves, Camp Rome in the Black Country near the town of Brownhills. I had hardly heard of the place then. It was to become my life.

The war brought me back to England. I don’t think there’s any need to recount the war itself, as you’ve likely read about it in the papers. Dumbledore accepted me eagerly into the effort, and it was as a member of his Order of the Phoenix that I learned of the marriage of James Potter and Lily Evans, and that they were expecting a sprog. James and I never spoke. It was evident he had not forgiven me. Evans, I knew, never would. It was a glimpse of what might-have-been for me-- I could have had them as friends. As it was, I felt awkward enough having them as allies. Dumbledore never assigned us together and I gather this was by some request on their part. I also never shook the feeling that Dumbledore _did_ know what I’d done in fourth year. He knew my guilt. I sometimes wondered if _everyone_ did.

Maybe that’s why I did it, I don’t know. I told myself at the time that it was curiosity and not guilt, but it might have been something in between or something else besides. Regardless of my mysterious motives, when the war was over I Floo’d to Brownhills and began inquiries about the visiting hours and policies at Camp Rome. I was gratified to learn that visitations there did exist, though the hours were somewhat limited. The day after I’d first gone to Brownhills, I visited Camp Rome for the first time. I visited _him_ for the first time.

Remus was not as I remembered him, but then almost six years had passed and likely I was not as he remembered me either. The first moments were painfully awkward; they sat us in a small tent outside of the main grounds, guards surrounding us. A small line of blue flames flickered on the floor between two plain chairs-- a magical barrier. Whether it kept werewolves in or visitors out I never did determine.

I remember that the summer that year was particularly warm, and the tent was not cooled in the least. Judging by the sweat stains on Remus’s clothes-- a neck-to-floor black and grey striped robe-- the camp itself was not significantly cooler. A sat in the wooden chair on my side of the tent, feeling exposed. He sat on his side. There was a strange unreadable expression on his face. And then he spoke.

"You don’t have to apologize," he said softly.

Until he said those words, I didn’t realize that I had come to apologize. Once he had, though, I realized I had nothing to say aside from an apology. "Remus..." I started.

"It was my fault, really. I should never have gone to Hogwarts. If something seems too good to be true, it usually is." He was smiling now, but the expression was still joyless. "Either way, nothing can change the past. I don’t blame you; you don’t need to come here any more. There’s nothing to be gained in torturing yourself."

I wondered if he took his own advice. Judging by the self-recrimination he had displayed only moments before, I doubted it. I decided it was best for us to ignore the subject of the past. Instead I asked what, in retrospect, seemed like a ridiculous question: "Are they treating you well here?"

He shrugged. "There’s nothing terribly shocking to report. They aren’t harvesting body parts for scientific experiments, if that’s what you’re asking." I honestly didn’t know _what_ I was asking, so I let it slip. Remus continued, thankfully on a new subject. "James told me you were back. He warned me you might try to come here."

I felt my heart sink. I was not surprised that James and Remus still owled. I was not surprised that James thought my presence in required some kind of advance warning. I must confess, though, that I was disappointed. There’s nothing like having everyone you’ve ever cared about-- everyone who has ever cared about you-- against you.

Remus must have seen something on my face, because he seemed to relax a bit. "I’m glad you came," he said. I knew it was a lie, but I appreciated the attempt at something resembling friendship.

"I am too," I lied back.

"You won your war," Remus said, and I was shocked to realize that the war hadn’t reached into the confines of Camp Rome. The war had extended its bloody fingers into nearly every aspect of Wizarding society, but one thing both Purebloods and Muggle-borns could agree upon was the detestable nature of the werewolf. To Remus, it wouldn’t matter who was in charge of the Ministry.

I nodded, though, and searched the small tent for our next topic of conversation, as if I might see a script written on the wall. Not surprisingly, none showed itself.

After another moment of awkward silence, I bid goodbye to Remus and Camp Rome. In that moment, I remember actually thinking that I would never be back there, that I was glad to have it behind me. I felt my duty fulfilled. Remus later confessed that he didn’t expect to see me again either.

Have two souls in the entire world ever been more wrong?

\------

I didn’t get a job; I didn’t need one. I was living off of my parents’ money. My brother had died in the war and my parents hadn’t thought past burning me off the family tree. They hadn’t written me out of their will. I have to assume to this day that this was some oversight. A war was on and perhaps my mother and father had not expected to be on the losing side. Maybe they assumed they would get to the solicitor someday after the war ended. Regardless, they hadn’t, and their money was a fortune. I took absurd delight in spending it on whatever I knew they wouldn’t have approved of, from a Muggle motorbike to those men who drift through the back streets of London in the wee hours selling their bodies for a five pound note.

It was from one of these that I met my best friend and worst enemy, heroin. I never got as far as those street-side junkies who shot up with shared needles. I stopped with snorting, though it’s hard to know what exactly would have happened if not for Remus. I’m sure, drifting and aimless as I was in life, I would have sought greater pleasures at the expense of all else.

It’s hard even now to remember why I ever decided to return to Camp Rome. It was near Christmas and I was wallowing in guilt about the fact that I hadn’t even a kind neighbor with whom to pretend to share the holiday. I had plans-- as much as they count for plans-- to go to a Muggle cinema and take in some movie. I told myself I would be rebelling against tradition by having popcorn for my Christmas dinner. When I finally left my flat to wander into the snowy world, though, I didn’t go to the cinema. Instead, I Apparated directly to Brownhills.

It’s a small town but not a dead place. It had not changed in the six months since my last visit except that instead of being submerged in sweltering heat it was walled about by cold winds. Even on Christmas a few shops were open and some of the country folk had decided to eat out in the pub on the main street for Christmas dinner. I stopped in there and got some food take away before walking the chilly mile over dead grasses to Camp Rome. I could have Apparated-- perhaps should have, because the pub food was cold by the time I arrived-- but the walk did me some good and gave me time to prepare what I might say to Remus.

The tent also had not changed, though there was a warming fire on my side. I hoped Remus could feel the heat from it as well. When I asked the guard whether Remus could have my food, I was surprised that he didn’t protest. The guard took it from me silently, opened it to ensure it was nothing more than I had claimed, and passed it across the line to the guard on the other side. This guard delivered it to Remus without comment. I watched this with trepidation as if something might go horrible wrong, but Remus watched with amusement in his eyes. When he finally opened the take away, he couldn’t hide his ravenous appetite. I wondered whether they were feeding him enough as he tore into the chips with curry sauce.

"Merry Christmas," I said, interrupting his eating and feeling terribly pleased with myself for my Christmas charity.

Remus stopped immediately, licking his lips. "Is it?" he asked.

"Haven’t you got calendars here?"

Remus stared blankly at me for a second before shaking his head. "They feed us different food on different days of the week. It passes for a calendar, but it doesn’t tell the holidays."

"Didn’t James owl then?"

Remus shook his head again. "He has his own concerns. I’m sure you do as well."

I laughed at this. The idea that I had anything at all with which to concern myself was ludicrous.

I noticed then that Remus was looking at me strangely. "What?" he asked. It occurred to me that he might have thought I was laughing at him.

Sobering up a bit, I clarified why I was laughing. "Remus," I started, "All my family is dead, not that I’m mourning them. I haven’t got any friends. I was planning on spending Christmas at the cinema by myself. You may think I’m coming here out of guilt, but mostly I haven’t anywhere else to go." I smiled, trying to not sound pathetic or self-pitying. I didn’t really even feel self-pity. This was simply the facts of my life as I saw them, and I knew I had only myself to blame.

Remus didn’t seem to react for a long time. He was watching me and I imagined he was weighing my response to judge its truthfulness. His only answer was, "I can speak to James. Maybe he’ll--"

I waved this off. "James and I are ancient history. He thinks I’m evil incarnate."

Remus did smile at that. "I must say the things he says about you in his letters are less than flattering."

There was a place deep down inside where this statement still had the power to wound me. I thought I hid it well, but apparently not as well as I had hoped, since Remus responses, "Sirius, he’s wrong. The things he says about you-- if he took even ten minutes to speak to you he’d know he was wrong."

Maybe the worst part of this conversation was that I didn’t believe Remus; I was quite sure James was right about most things, and especially about me. I shrugged, unable to voice these fears.

I don’t recall exactly how that visit ended, but I left feeling worse than when I had arrived. I remember keenly thinking that I didn’t deserve a friend like Remus and that I certainly didn’t deserve his forgiveness. I didn’t go to the cinema. Instead, I went home and got pissed until I passed out on my bed.

We went on like this for longer than I like to admit. That was a dark time for me. Perhaps for Remus as well, from afar. I visited Remus once a month or so through the year, but it seemed to me that my time with him only highlighted how empty the rest of my life was, how little I believed in my own innocence. Every month after I visited Remus I told myself I never would again. And yet every month like clockwork my life would grow too empty for me and I would seek our Remus. I hated myself for this; for the fact that I needed Remus in my life in order to fill me up. Maybe it was some misguided sense of chivalry, but I thought I needed to find myself some other crutch. Remus didn’t deserve to have me leaning on him after everything else I’d already done to him.

That’s what led me first to alcohol and then to pot, but when they were not enough I turned to heroin. And still, it didn’t help much, though it did help at times. I convinced myself that my dealers were my ‘friends’, that they were looking out for me in some sick and twisted way. I even told Remus that I had been making new friends. I told myself that he was happy for me. That tells you something about how blind I was-- he was anything _but_ happy for me, but by that point I was so sunk into myself and my own delusions of stability and prosperity that I could hardly see my hand in front of my face.

For me, the wake up call came nearly an entire year after that Christmas visit. It wasn’t quite Christmas, but it was close enough that I fancied myself ‘in the spirit’. I went to visit Remus while high as a kite. I don’t know if I thought he wouldn’t notice or if I thought he wouldn’t care. I don’t think I was thinking much of anything at all. Once in the tent, which was cold enough that I could see my breath as I spoke, I prattled on about who-knows-what to a silent Remus for nearly an hour. I only know how much time it was because the guard warned us that we had only a few minutes left, and they only allowed us an hour then. I slammed my mouth shut, suddenly realizing that Remus had said no more than five words in all that time.

When I did finally look at him-- I mean _really_ look at him-- I noticed a deep sadness in his eyes. "What?" I asked. "What’s wrong?"

Remus shook his head, sighed, and then spoke. To this day I have not forgotten the exact words he said: "Sirius, please don’t kill yourself. You’re the only real friend that I have, and I need you. Stay alive."

By the time I’d managed to get my tongue moving again, the guard was already escorting Remus out of the room. I left, stunned.

I would like to be able to say that I never touched heroin again after that day, but that would be a lie. It’s simply not as easy as that to kick such a habit, especially when I believed it wasn’t detrimental to me. I did get there in the end, however. It was mid-summer by the time I was fully clean with an intention to stay that way.

As for Remus, I’d wanted to ask him time and again at our visits what he had meant when he said those fateful words. Didn’t he have James as well? Had he made no friends in all of his years in Camp Rome? Every time I nearly did ask, I lost my nerve and ended up sputtering off into some other useless question. I don’t think it was really the presence of Remus that brought out this shameful cowardly streak in me. Rather, I think it was the guard. I never could shake the feeling that he was listening to our every word, and it didn’t seem like a topic we should share with him. Was Remus likewise so deprived of privacy in the camp?

I don’t know if this was my motive or if it was just idle curiosity, but around that time I began to take out books on werewolf law and werewolf detention camps. I wanted to understand Remus’s daily experiences about which he never spoke unless directly questioned. Even when asked, he gave the barest minimum answers. I also _needed_ know every last one of Remus’s rights and whether there was any way I could extend them. I owed it to him as I’d put him in Camp Rome, but that wasn’t my real impetus. We had become even closer friends now than we had been in school, and I would have helped any close friend as best I could.

Unfortunately, I found nothing. It seemed we were already taking full advantage of the freedoms afforded the denizens of Camp Rome. Visiting Remus in that small tent in the full view of the guards was considered a luxury, and I imagined the Wizengmot patting themselves on their backs for their generosity. The deeper I delved into the legal documentation, the more disgusted I became with the Wizarding society I had fought to save. Granted, with Bella and her bloody Dark Lord in charge it could only have been worse, but things needed to change.

Not, mind you, that I thought I was the one to change them. Perhaps before the war, before I had sent Remus to Camp Rome, I might have believed I could change the world for the better-- but I wasn’t exactly thinking about ‘the world’ then. I had spent most of that time thinking about the style of my hair.

It was, in the end, frustration that drove me to the Potters’ door. I knew I was as likely to get punched in the face as anything else, but I also knew that Lily Evans Potter was one of the top solicitors involved in helping disenfranchised members of Wizarding society push for greater political freedom. That meant that finding a loophole around these bloody werewolf detention laws was basically her job. For all I knew, she might already know of one. It was a risk I had to take.

I timed my visit specifically so that James would not be home. He was the one likely to punch me, though I knew I still had to be careful of the hexes that I knew Evans was capable of. As I was standing on the doorstep it occurred to me that I might have tried polyjuice or simply writing her under a pseudonym, but I was here and running away now would be cowardice. So, I knocked on the door.

It seemed to take her a long time to arrive at the door, but when she did I was not terribly surprised to see the business end of her wand pointed right into my face. "Pleasant morning, Evans," I said calmly. She wouldn’t just cut me down on her doorstep in broad daylight, right?

"What do you want, _Black_?" She spat my name like it was a curse, and I hate to admit that I did flinch.

"I just want to talk." Even as I said this, I was regretting the entire trip. She wasn’t even going to give me a moment to explain. "Can I come in?"

"You can do your talking right here or not at all," she snapped.

"Alright..." At least it was something. At least she had given me the moment to speak. From there, I launched into the short version of a longer story: how I had come to be friends with Remus, and how I wanted to help him.

Evans did not seem mollified. "You lock him up in that hellhole, and then you think you’re the only one who can save him from it? How self-important can you be? Do you think James and I haven’t tried to find a work-around?"

I stepped back and raised my hands defensively. "Whoa. Look, Evans, I came here specifically because I assumed you _had_ looked into it."

"Well you needn’t have bothered," she snapped. "There’s nothing that can be done unless you can turn back time or marry the bloke." The door slammed so hard that I heard their small child start screaming in response. I tucked my head down and began to walk away. If anyone had looked at me out of the window-- and I doubted that Evans would even bother unless it was to make sure she didn’t have to call in the Aurors or something-- I would have seemed dejected and disappointed.

Inside, though, I felt anything but. In fact, Evans had inadvertently given me the answer. She definitely had a point-- if I could somehow go back in time and undo the past, I could save Remus from all this mess. The only reliable method of time travel that I knew of, though, the Time Turner, simply did not function that way. There would be too much I would have to relive. Besides, as selfish as it seems now, we had won the war and I was honestly afraid that if I _were_ to change the past I could be undoing that victory. There was a part of me that had never once doubted that Severus Snape deserved to die-- it was that same part of me that didn’t regret what had happened to Remus. It wasn’t a part that I flaunted for the world to see, but I secretly thought Potter and Evans knew about it, could read it as if it were written on my face, and were thus justified in all of their treatment of me. I felt that Remus knew about it, too, but that was different somehow. He had never asked me to apologize and I never had done. I didn’t think he would _want_ me to go back in time.

The other option, though... I have to admit that in all my browsing of laws and texts, the idea had not come to me. I didn’t recall it having been mentioned in those texts. Clearly Evans had discovered something I hadn’t.

And thus I returned to my research with renewed vigor. Now I had a direction, something specific to look for in my reading.

It wasn’t written in the wizarding laws, nor was it mentioned in the wizarding law texts I had been ruthlessly devouring for weeks now. Rather, I found my breakthrough in Muggle history texts of Ireland. I could never have found it without Evans’ help, as vague as it had been. The idea, though, was brilliant. Following World War I, the Muggle English had kept Irish Republicans in internment camps to try and quell their rebellion. They were not considered prisons; the denizens were granted certain rights, but not full rights. The Wizengmot set up Dangerous Creatures Camps only decades later in order to prevent werewolves and vampires from aiding Grindledore in his quest for power. The fact that the wizarding camps were modeled after he Muggle camps of decades before, though, was not a secret. Apparently many wizards had objected to following _any_ Muggle model at all and had opposed the creation of these camps. Ironic, I thought, that my grandfather had used pureblood supremacy to try and block the creation of the Dangerous Creatures Camps that were now the bane of my friend’s existence, and by extension, my own.

The Dangerous Creature Camps had in their original charter, as a result, the apparently benign statement that all right afforded the occupants of Muggle British internment camps would likewise be afforded to occupants of the wizarding equivalent. It was a statement I had seen before, and I had already researched the earlier Muggle internment camps, but I had not spent very much time on them. I though I’d find the answer in some obscure wizarding Creatures legislation.

But there is was, in black and white ink in the fifth amendment to the Muggle British internment charter: "Occupants shall be allowed to marry and be given in marriage as long as their marriage meets all legal requirements of marriage in the jurisdictions in which the camp is located. In addition, they shall be allowed private time with the person they marry." Hurrah! If Remus and I married, he would have to be permitted time alone with me-- without a guard. Time out of the eye of the guards wasn’t much, but it was something at least.

Even if the wizarding courts did not feel inclined to hold up their part of this bargain, I did have something that had been inspiring unlikely empathy in wizarding courts since Ancient Egypt: money. I had quite a lot of it, actually. Generations of loose spending could not have drained the riches of the House of Black. I secretly delighted in the idea of spending my parents' pureblood money in order to secure some little freedoms for a halfblood werewolf, but that was really just an added bonus.

Then I realized there was one part of my brilliant plan that I had not even considered. Muggle readers might think that out both being men would have been a major barrier to this plan, but Wizarding courts have been recognizing same-sex marriage for-- oh, well at least since before I was born. It was common in many wizard societies in ancient times, and though it is not common in modern Britain, wizards have always been determined to stand upon tradition.

That wasn't the issue at all. Rather, the issue was that I was a poofter and Remus... well, I was fairly sure that Remus was _not_. It's not as if our private visits would be about sex, though. We were just friends, after all. But Remus might not like the attachment. I just wanted to talk to him alone a bit, and this entire mad idea was probably overkill. Wouldn't it just have been easier to bribe a guard or something? But I would have had to bribe several guards on many occasions, and it seemed to me that was its own can of worms. One loud-mouthed guard could send me to prison as well. I’ve never been one to be concerned about the legality of my decisions, but I didn’t want to be separated from Remus. Even then, it was a desire I could not name, and I had the motivation for the first time in my life to try and follow the rules as best I could. I needed to keep my nose clean, and I’d found a way to do that and get what I wanted at the same time.

I didn’t think about it until later, so I won’t pretend it was part of my decision-making process-- much as I wish it had been-- but there was another excellent reason to go with the more complex plan: it would set a precedent for werewolves, wizards, and witches everywhere.

\------

I hated this feeling. I knew I was proposing a legal workaround and not a marriage, but nevertheless my palms were sweaty and my heart raced as I climbed the last hill behind which Camp Rome hid. I had Floo’d in early, leaving room for a long walk in the crisp early-autumn weather. I’d had some notion that such a walk would calm my nerves, but it had done little towards that end. I knew I would simply have to get this over with the hard way.

It was the same tent I had met Remus in countless times, the same line of flame separating us. The guard might have been one I had seen before or not; I didn’t pay much attention to them. Their faces blurred together into the same uninterested and glazed eyes, the same square chin, and the same overfed haunches hiding bristly wrestler’s muscles. They were nameless automatons to me, faceless time-keepers. I hated the guards.

Despite the sameness of the entire situation, everything felt different to me that day. Remus looked different-- expectant? Surely that was my imagination. I sat, my leg tapping nervously.

"You are up to something." Remus broke the silence auspiciously with these words.

"I’m-- Am--." My throat choked off my voice. I wanted to protest, but in fact I _was_ up to something. The guard seemed to lean in, more intent on the conversation than usual. They had already taken my wand from me at the door; what could the guard possibly fear?

"Look, um," I restarted awkwardly. "I know this idea is rubbish, but I was thinking... if you are I got-- if we, you know, tied the knot-- you could be free from the goon squad," I indicated the guard with a sweep of my head, "For a few hours a fortnight at least."

Remus said nothing. I sneaked a peak at him from under my long fringe. He was watching me intently, his mouth set in a straight and un-telling line.

"I know it’s a stupid idea," I added. "You can laugh at me. I won’t mind."

Remus, though, did not laugh. He watched me eerily.

"Right, so..."

Remus turned to the guard. "I think I’d like to go back now," he said politely. The guard nodded, and in moment Remus was gone. I sat alone with my wounded pride and met the other guard at the entrance. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but I could be sure of what _hadn’t_ happened. Remus had not liked my hair-brained plan.

The time between that awkward proposal and my next visit to Camp Rome two weeks later crawled by unnervingly. I was almost relieved to sit down across from Remus again and carry on a normal conversation. It wasn’t as smooth as it had been; we discussed the weather of all things. When a moment of silence fell between us, Remus cleared his throat and began to speak:

"I owled James," he started. "I told him... about what you said last time."

"Oh." I pursed my lips. I had rather hoped we’d avoid this topic altogether, hope it had never happened, but clearly that was not in the cards.

Remus shook his head, but he was smiling just a tad. "James thinks you’re using me. He called you a few choice names. He _really_ doesn’t think very highly of you."

"Yeah", I said. "Tell me something I don’t know. I can’t blame you if you do whatever he thinks is best. He’s been a better friend to you than I have." I sagged a bit when he didn’t appear likely to refute my claim. I don’t know what I’d been hoping for, but alienation from everyone had never been my plan.

Remus continued on a new tack: "Sirius, there’s something I need to know before I can give you an answer regarding your offer. You have to answer me truthfully. Do you promise?"

I promised, and I meant it.

"Do you feel guilty about putting me in here?"

I thought about my answer a long time. I knew there would be repercussions from whatever I said, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face them. But I also knew I had to answer him.  
"I’m not sure," I answered truthfully. "I feel bad that you ended up here, but... if I had to do it all over again, I don’t think I would do anything differently." My face and heart fell together. I was disappointing him yet again. "There was a war coming..." I offered feebly.

"And you considered my sacrifice just another en route to winning that war?"

Unable to look at him, I nodded.

"Don’t you think that should have been my decision to make?"

"Right," I muttered sarcastically. "Because if I had said, ‘think it would be great to kill Snivellus with me?’ you would have jumped at the opportunity. What can I say? I did what I thought was right."

"And you still think it was the right thing to do?" Remus asked.

I shrugged. "I think it happened and it’s in the past." I did finally look up when I said, "I wish I’d had the balls to simply kill him with my own hands and leave you out of it. But I don’t regret that he’s dead."

"That’s why James and Lily can’t forgive you," Remus stated.

"Don’t care," I answered. "It’s not their consciences that I have to live with. It’s mine."

Remus cracked a smile. "You are a selfish son-of-a-bitch."

I shrugged again. I was a lot of things, but I was never apologetic for who I was.

"Thank you for the honest answer."

I nodded. "So I guess I’d better leave now."

"Don’t you want my answer?"

"I already know it. I just admitted I’d do this to you again if I needed to. I don’t really need to wait around to know how you feel about it."

Remus surprised me then-- more than he had ever before in my life. "Sirius," he said gently, "If I thought you were offering out of pity or remorse, I couldn’t accept your offer. Now, though, I know you don’t feel those things. That’s what worried James-- that you were offering in order to seek absolution."

I felt outrage. "I was offering to help a friend. Sad to say, but my motives are hardly ever more complex than they seem."

Remus nodded. "In that case, I accept."

\------

The ceremony itself was small. The court and judge, as I predicted, had bowed to a bit of financial persuasion and were satisfied that as long as we didn’t do anything ridiculous like report the entire thing to the Prophet it would do no harm and set no real precedent. I hoped they were wrong, but I also knew I wasn’t going to jeopardize anything by waving a red flag in front of them. I didn’t like the Prophet anyway.

The ceremony was held in that same tent where Remus and I always met. Our witnesses were the beefy guards and the blue flame. I had never thought I’d get married, honestly, and certainly not to someone with whom I had no discernible romantic connection. It bothered me less than I thought it should. I had no friends and was not likely to find any kind of spouse among my former drug dealer associates, and Remus’s prospects were probably worse than my own.

Only as the judge pronounced us married did it occur to me that I hadn’t so much as touched Remus, not even a handshake, since the day I’d sent him here. Suddenly, there was nothing I wanted more.

Luckily for me, I didn’t have to wait long. The guards escorted us out of the tent, each going our separate ways. They led me back into their main offices where they unceremoniously required that I strip. I was searched thoroughly by both magic and rough, gloved guards’ hands. Following the search, they gave me a simple grey tweed robe to put own and led me back out into the cool fall air. I shivered, naked under the itchy robe. Next, they brought me to a small building. It looked like perhaps it was a stone storage shed of some sort. They opened the door and dumped me unceremoniously inside. I registered the lock behind me clicking just a moment after I realized that I was not alone.

"Remus," I whispered. This was the first time I had seen him in years without that eerie blue glow of the flame between us. I didn't realize until that moment that the sallow look of his skin was not an artifact of the indigo flame.

He had evidently been dumped just as unceremoniously into the small one-room building as I had, minus the strip search. The room was small and cinder-blocks painted white. It was cold, though a very old stove appeared to have been haphazardly shoved into the corner. It was not lit and gave out no heat, and I wondered how either of us were supposed to start it without a wand. The floor was the same cold stone, and my feet were bare and cold against it. Remus at least had been left with his camp clothes-- shoes included. He sat on a low and rusty cot. The sheets on it were stained with something that looked suspiciously like blood. I decided it had been requisitioned from the infirmary for this new use. There was a sink and toilet as well. On the floor next to the toilet there was a small pile of old condoms and even a half-used tube of lube. I was momentarily happy we would not be using them-- they didn’t seem like they would hold up very well. The afternoon light filtered in from small barred windows near the ceiling, and there was no light source besides this. Nevertheless, perhaps because of the whiteness of everything in the room, this was plenty of light to see by.

Remus was watching me silently from his perch on the cot's flattened mattress. I felt awkward. Minutes before, I had been aching to touch him. Now, I almost felt like running away. Instead, I cleared my throat and asked "How long do we have?"

Remus shrugged. "They didn't say anything to me."

I nodded. Evidently we'd better make use of the time we had, since they hadn't seen fit to let us know how much time that would be. I sat down on the cot and it creaked underneath me, but it seemed secure enough to hold the weight of two people. I folded my legs under me to try and keep my feet warm and fought the child-like urge to sink my arms into the sleeves and huddle in upon myself in the tweed robe.

"Lovely new outfit you've got there, Sirius," Remus said.

I shrugged, not really in the mood to dwell on the current... situation. Well, there was one part of it on which I was happy to dwell. I snaked out an arm and roughly hugged Remus to my side.

He made a noise in his throat that I could not decipher. Only then did Remus and the situation I had put him in feel genuinely real to me. "I _am_ sorry," I whispered. "I never meant to hurt you."

"The road to hell was paved with good intentions," Remus said with a soft smile. I still hadn't let him go.

"But I doubt the road to heaven is paved with the bad," I responded.

"No," he said, carefully extracting himself from my embrace. "Without a doubt, good intentions are the most you can ask of someone. Though a bit of forethought rarely hurts."

I laughed, feeling as though I had finally received the absolution I hadn't known I had been searching for. I felt a pang of shame, wondering if James had been right about me all along. Remus seemed to anticipate my thoughts. "Was that the conversation you've been aching to have with me in private?"

"No," I answered quickly. "There's no specific conversation I've been angling for. It's more the concept of privacy in general."

Remus nodded, but then silence fell between us. It was more awkward than I had expected. "So," I sighed. "We're married, you and I." I guess I had been hoping that the comment would break the strange glass wall growing invisibly between us, but it did the opposite. The silence grew thicker, more desperate to be filled.

"Did you ever think you'd marry a man?" Remus asked quietly.

"No," I answered too quickly. "Not the man bit, though. The marriage bit. I can't imagine settling down," I confessed.

"Oh?" Remus's eyebrow went up. "Do you have a lot of women? I mean, out there?" The nod of his head was meant to indicate the world outside Camp Rome, I imagined.

I shook my head. "It's always been men for me, Remus. I thought you knew that."

His cheeks pinked a bit before he reiterated his question. "Have you got a lot of men, then?"

I shrugged. "I've made do. When I was high..." I didn't think I had to tell Remus about that. He had seen it in action, a bit. "It was a convenient way to pay for drugs," I admitted. "Not that I don't also have the money, but paying that way made me feel more like it was a necessity than a privilege."

Remus shrugged one shoulder uncomfortably and I guessed he knew what was coming. "What about you?" I asked. "What's it like in there? Do you... have relationships?" I didn't think Remus would be the type to simply have sex, so the question seemed valid to me.

His laugh was cynical and pained. "Camp Rome is entirely about relationships," he confessed, "Though probably not the sort you are thinking of. You wouldn't want to know. You wouldn't understand."

I shook my head. "No, I probably can’t understand. But I don’t think that means I shouldn’t want to know."

Remus seemed to consider this for a moment. "You can’t judge," he said finally. "You of all people haven’t the right to judge me for what goes on here."

The words stung, not because I thought I might judge him, but because it was unlike Remus to hold the past over my head. He seemed to realize what he had said or how it had hurt me because he quickly added, "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that."

"I deserve it any way you mean it," I answered flatly.

"It’s just... if you want to know the truth," he sighed, "I can’t go more than a day without judging _myself_ for what goes on here. I’m... afraid of what you’ll think."

"You don’t have to tell, then."

"I will," Remus answered. "Not today, but someday I will. I promise."

Suddenly, there was a firm banging on the locked door of the room. I think I jumped a full six inches out of my seat. Remus’s head dropped just as a voice yelled. "Time’s up." The door swung open to reveal three guards, wands drawn. I was not amused by how little notice they’d given us. If we _had_ been a real married couple, they probably would be barging in mod-coitus. I knew better than to resist three beefy goons with wands, though. I raised my hands in the universal gesture of harmlessness and stood. The cot groaned unhappily at the shifting of weight. All three guards entered the room. One grabbed me by the arm and escorted me out. I barely had time to turn and shoot Remus an apologetic glance before the stone door slammed behind me, leaving Remus alone in the small outbuilding with two guards. I remember the deadness I had seen come over his eyes in that last look we’d exchanged. To the guard that was swiftly pulling me towards the main buildings I asked feebly, "What are they going to do to him?"

The guard answered me with only silence, and within fifteen minutes I found myself back outside the main gates in my own clothes. With one more desperate glance back at the stone walls of the camp, I shoved my hands in my pockets and trudged away home.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: Remus kills Severus and is sent to an internment camp in his fourth year at Hogwarts. James never forgives Sirius, and Sirius transfers to Durmstrang. At the end of the war, Sirius and Remus strike up an unlikely friendship that rapidly becomes something much more.

Our visits were only allowed once a fortnight. I never thought to miss one; I hadn’t anything to miss them for. My life between these visits was empty, just marking time. Heroin had once filled that space, but now I had nothing. I read books and papers, wrote high-and-mighty Letters to the Editors from time to time under various pseudonyms. I tried every restaurant within five miles of my flat. I bought a shite motorbike and set about rebuilding it when I felt like it, which wasn’t terribly often. I seemed to grow bored of any activity at all after a very short time.

On the day of the visits, I would rise early to bathe and shave. I’d wear crisp and stylish clothes. The first couple of months, I was not allowed to wear those clothes. I’d be stripped of them before Remus even got a glimpse of them. I’d managed to convince the guards, eventually, that this wasn’t necessary. Now, though I was still strip-searched, I could at least wear my own clothes in to see Remus. Not only had the guards acquiesced to this little luxury, but a well-placed galleon had also caused the little heater in our cold room to miraculously spring to life.

The second time I’d visited Remus in our shared cell, I’d asked him what the guards had wanted with him the previous time, but Remus had only laughed. "They escorted me back to my quarters, that’s all. You imagine horrors that aren’t there." I was slowly realizing that the guards here were just ordinary people with families to feed and little tykes they sent off to Hogwarts, not the spectres I saw in them when I visited.

On Christmas, I thought I would try and get a gift into the visitation room. I bought a small Christmas cake to share with Remus. Before my customary strip-search, I offered the cake to the guards. They did not eat any, but they did rip it up to check for hidden weapons. I didn’t mind that the cake was now a crumbling mess; I was happy just to be able to present something to Remus as a gift.

When I arrived, as usual, Remus was already there. We exchanged our customary polite greetings and I offered him the plate of decimated cake. He smiled and thanked me before picking up a chunk with his fingers. I was grateful that he didn’t ask what had happened to it-- but then again he could probably guess.

"Do you hear from James often?" I asked around a mouthful of cake. I licked my fingers to disguise my nervousness at Remus’s response.

"Some," Remus answered. "Too many of our owls devolve into disagreements."

"About me," I said, sure I was correct.

Remus tilted his head and licked his own fingers. "Sometimes," he admitted.

"You don’t have to come to my defense. I don’t mind what he says about me."

"I don’t come to your defense," Remus clarified. "He often tells me that I am under your influence, and I take exception to that. I simply defend myself."

I nodded, but I couldn’t hide my disappointment. I knew that James badmouthed me to Remus, but I had some romantic notions about Remus refuting all of James’ claims, defending and supporting me, despite what I had said about not caring. Like most of my romantic notions, it was all rubbish.

Finally, cake finished, I shrugged to Remus. "Happy Christmas."

"Thank you," he smiled back."I kept track this time."

I knew he had; I knew he had a makeshift calendar in his head marked off by the fortnight. I didn’t have to ask about it; I had a matching calendar in my own head.

There was a long pause before Remus continued. "Sirius," he started, "Are you still seeing other people?"

"No!" I snapped almost too quickly.

"Why?" Remus asked. He would not look at me.

"That wouldn't be right."

He looked up at me then. "Why not? This..." He pointed between us, "Isn't real."

I felt a lump form in my throat. Was it so bad that I wanted it to be real? I had so little that was actually real in my life. I worried that Remus would be scared away if he knew I was developing real feelings for him, though. I was afraid to even admit as much to myself, but I was petrified that Remus would think all of this had been some kind of ruse to gain his affections. I could almost hear James saying as much.

Apparently I had gone too long without answering him. My silence must have spoken volumes because Remus sighed heavily and continued. "Sirius... I never meant to lead you on. I'm sorry."

"No," I shook my head. "It's my fault." I wasn't sure what I had done, but I was generally confident that Remus was blameless in all things and that I was the fount of all fault in our tiny cinder-block world.

Remus didn't answer. Instead, he pulled me to his side and held me there. I was surprised by how much I needed the physical comfort. I clung to him for too long. He eventually pulled away, pushing my fringe back from my forehead with a couple gentle strokes.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, not even sure what I was apologizing for.

"Don't be sorry that you feel too much. There are worse crimes."

I didn't point out to him that I knew that too well; I had committed those crimes also. "I don't expect anything from you," I clarified.

"I know," he answered. He was watching the plain white wall now. "And I expect too much from you, I think."

I wasn't sure what he meant. He didn't clarify, though. Instead, he picked up another chunk of cake and shoved it in his mouth, smiling as he licked his fingers clean.

The guards came not long after, and I was left feeling a bit lost for yet another fortnight.

During that time, though, I came to admit to myself the truth I had awkwardly admitted first to Remus: I had developed feelings for him. Perhaps it should not have been such a source of shame for me. He was my husband after all. But I knew this had never been a part of the plan.

I had expected our mid-January visit to be awkward, but I was wrong. Remus seemed to be in a good mood. The sallowness of his cheeks was diminished. He smiled when he saw me, and I smiled instinctively in return.

"Sit," he patted the cot next to him. It wasn't necessary; there was nowhere else to be and that was where I always sat, but I did as I was told. "I've been thinking," he started.

"Uh oh," I joked.

He laughed. "That's actually a lie. I've been owling with James."

"Uh oh." I was not joking this time.

"You may want to thank him, actually. I have been... very confused about things. In a sense, his arguments gave me a new perspective."

"How so?" I asked, tentative about where the conversation was going.

"I... lied to you last time." His smile slipped off. "I wonder if I was starting to believe what James was telling me. I don't know. Maybe that's just an excuse."

"I'm sorry," I admitted, "You've lost me."

He nodded. "What I mean is, I'm developing feelings for you as well." He did not look at me as he spoke. "I known how you feel already, and I thought that succumbing to this made me weak. Hell, maybe it does."

I remember that my mouth was as dry as cotton. I rose and walked to the sink, gathered a handful of cold and metallic-tasting water to my lips, and drank deeply. Remus sighed behind me. I was surprised by how glum his revelation made me. Perhaps I was starting to believe some of James’s objections as well. Had I manipulated this into existence somehow?  
I turned back to Remus. "I’m sorry if it’s something I did. I never meant to."

Remus laughed lightly. "You and James both seem to believe I can’t think or feel anything on my own without being manipulated into it somehow."

I had nothing to say to this; I was guilty as charged. "So... what?" I asked, feeling frustrated. "We're in a real marriage now?" I was surprised by how much this idea actually frightened me.

"Don't be ridiculous," Remus huffed. "We haven't even dated. I'm just saying that perhaps we should give ourselves the chance to."

I did feel some anxiety melt away at those words. Dating wasn't so bad. "I thought you went for birds," I admitted.

"A lot has changed since I was fourteen, Sirius."

I sank back down onto the cot. "Where do we start?" I asked. It wasn't as if I could ask him on a date to a nice restaurant, even if I could think of a dozen within five miles of my flat that would serve perfectly.

"I think..." Remus answered, "That we already have."

\------

The visits didn't go much differently from then on. We continued to talk. As spring came, we’d also sometimes sit in silence and listen to the birdsong through the tiny windows. Remus knew many of the birds by their songs-- something his father had taught him as a boy. I did entertain Remus with stories of my time at Durmstrang, the ways in which is was different from Hogswarts, the acquaintances I’d made there. Grindledore seemed like ancient history here in Britain, but students of Durmstrang were still alert to mentions of him.

I also told Remus about the war. Dumbledore had used me chiefly as a kind of spy. There had been many purebloods who didn’t trust me at that time, but I’d never entirely cut ties with my family. I’d often been tempted while in school, but being so far away from them for so much of the year, I found I could stand them better over holidays. My dad never ceased to express relief that I’d escaped the ‘curse’ of Gryffindor and of Dumbledore’s ‘questionable leadership’ to a more suitable environment. Remus always listened with interest.

After one of my war stories about spying on my own family, Remus offered that perhaps James had thought I really was a double agent and not just a spy. Remus suggested that it would at least account for some of his distrust of me.

"I dunno," I admitted. "I can’t pretend to know what goes on his his head. I haven’t even seen him since the end of the war."

Remus fell into silence. Eventually, he sighed and said, "I’ve got some pictures. Of him and Lily with the baby."

"Henry, is it?" I asked.

"Harry," he corrected. "I can ask the guards if I can bring them to show you."

"No," I answered swiftly. "James didn’t give them to you to show to me. He wouldn’t want me to see them."

Remus nodded, but said nothing. The guards knocked on the door then: our minute warning. They had been a bit nicer about giving us a couple seconds to say goodbye over the past months. I turned to Remus with a sheepish smile. "I guess this is it, until next time."

He nodded again, but just as I was about to stand, his hand darted out and caught my cheek. He leaned in and kissed me. I was too stunned to even return the kiss. A shaft of outside light spilled over us and Remus pulled away.

I was speechless as I let the guards lead me back towards the main building. It was strange to me, the path Remus and I were following. It would have made complete sense for Remus and I to be enemies, or even careful allies. But we were married. And now, as if that weren’t good enough, we were falling in love. I suppose we were treading far off the map of the expected now.

But we were Gryffindors. Maps are for Ravenclaws. Most of the places I’d ever considered worth venturing into had been off the map, and in a sense this uncharted territory was more comfortable to me than the ordinary family life James had made for himself.

I don’t think my feet touched the ground for a full week after that kiss.

Our visits changed rapidly after this. We were like two teenagers who were discovering the mechanics of their bodies for the first time. We had difficulty keeping our hands off of each other, and more than once the guards had interrupted us just when I thought we might progress beyond the feverish desires of celibate youths. Remus’s caution and overall reticence to go farther did make me wonder if he was a virgin, and the more he resisted, the more I was sure that he was.

Finally, I couldn’t take it any more. I was already leaning over him, naked as the day I was born. My expensive suit was crumpled onto the dust-laden floor. Remus, though, was fully clothed. I was trying to be sensitive, though my cock was definitely not making that easy. "What are you afraid of?" I asked. "There’s no need. I won’t hurt you."

Remus surprised me when he threw back his head and began to laugh. "You don’t-- you do, don’t you? You think I’ve never done this before."

My mouth went dry. "No!" I lied. "I just mean, you seem... nervous."

A storm cloud passed over Remus’s expression, but his response was to stand and strip off his striped robe. When I saw his scarred body, I thought that was what he had been nervous about. It wasn’t bothered, though. He’d had scars when we were in school as well, so it wasn’t some sort of surprise. I stood, embracing him, trying to let him know that I didn’t care. He took the opportunity to turn the tables a bit, though, and before I knew it we were back on the cot and Remus was lowering me down over himself. It was obvious to me what part he wanted to play in this, and a shiver of excitement went up my spine. I caressed the inside of his thighs, surprised at how soft and velvety they were in comparison to the rest of his scarred skin. I opened the half-used tube of lube. When we were both ready, I steadied myself for entrance.

Remus’s hand on my wrist stopped me. "A condom," he whispered.

"I had a test," I assured him. I had, too-- three months ago when I thought this encounter had been mere weeks away.

Remus’s hand didn’t move, though. He had a surprisingly strong grip on my arm. "Sirius." The way he said my made it sound like a reprimand.

I backed up a bit. "Fine," I answered, stunned. I tried not to show that I was shaking as I retrieved an ancient-looking condom from the floor, opened it, and slipped it on.

Despite the condom, the sex was honestly amazing. Remus may have been receiving, but there was nothing submissive about his part in this. I felt as though I was riding a wild animal-- and I suppose some people might have even said I was. I came with a noise too much like a howl, though Remus made only a series of grunts when he spilled over.

A sudden soppy tiredness overwhelmed me then, and I poked Remus in the ribs. "Budge over." He complied, and somehow we both managed to fit onto the old rusty cot to sleep.

When I awoke, I was momentarily confused as to where I was. This was the first time Remus and I had literally slept together, and my mind and body could make little sense of my surroundings. Soon, though, I realized why I had awoken: Remus was speaking to me.  
"Are you awake?" he asked softly.

I grunted, too groggy to say anything more profound than that,

Remus was silent for a while, but I sensed there was something thick about the silence, as though he was about to say something important. In fact, he was about to tell the story I thought I would never get to hear: the story of Camp Rome.

"When I came here," he began, "I was young, but I had been a werewolf longer than anyone else here at the time. That gives one a certain... prestige. Honor. I think that people assumed it meant that I know what I’m doing, or that I am more wolf-like. Neither was true, of course. Nevertheless, I was immediately accepted into the head pack at the time, Fessus Nubes. Crudelis was the pack leader. He... took me as his underling."

Remus sighed deeply and there was a moment of silence as though he was considering whether to continue with his story. "It's not really sex, you see. Not in here. It's just a display of dominance. A public display, most usually."

I was taken aback by this seeming non-sequiteur. I turned my head to see Remus’s expression and Remus’s body went rigid. I was afraid I had ruined everything simply by trying to see him as he spoke, but he didn’t stop after all. He kept his face firmly turned towards the ceiling. I could see stress playing across his facial muscles, but he seemed determined to get on with his story.

"First it was Crudelis’s underlings. They would take me wherever they found me, though mostly in the yard. We all go out in the afternoon for fresh air, and that is usually where such displays... Well, it’s the best place." Remus nodded to himself. "But once I was Crudelis’s favorite, it was just Crudelis. I mean, he was the only one allowed to touch me. He died, oh, about six or seven years ago, now. At the ripe old age of forty-five. He arrived here when he was thirty-two, so that’s thirteen years behind these walls. Most would say that is above average."

I wanted to ask whether Remus had loved Crudelis, but I was afraid that an interruption would stop his flow of words.

"His death left me in charge of Fessus Nubes, and with a mutiny on my hands. Several pack members who had been here longer expected to be left in charge, but Crudelis was clear that I was to be the new leader. It was a blessing and a curse. I knew that if I showed weakness I would be torn apart-- perhaps quite literally. I did what I had to do, and within a few months the pack was firmly under my control."

This time I simply could not keep my mouth shut. "I’m sorry," I whispered, "I don’t quite understand. Did you have to kill someone?" To my mind, that was the logical answer.

Remus shook his head, and I noticed that there was an unusual sheen to his eyes. His voice was tight when he answered, "Sometimes it’s difficult to remember how things are done among huma-- Among civilized people. You forget the basic right and wrong your parents taught you."

"I’d rather forget whatever my parents taught me," I whispered cynically.

"I didn’t kill anyone," Remus said, but his voice seemed tighter, his eyes even wetter. "I did simply what was done to me-- what is done to maintain the semblance of order in this place. Rape." The word stuck in his throat. "I can’t regret it, because it kept me alive. And I can’t forgo it; it’s a necessity here."

I still felt as though my sleep-clogged brain was having trouble following him from sentence to sentence. "You mean, you had to rape someone?" As much as I knew I couldn’t judge him, I also was unable to prevent the tone of disapproval from slipping into my voice.

Remus shook his head. "Not someone. Many someones. Now that I have pack members I trust, I’ve been able to rely more on them. I’ve cut back a bit."

"Cut back?" I sat bolt upright. "You sound like you’re merely trying to give up smoking!"

Remus didn’t move, but his eyes did turn to me. I realized then that I was reacting exactly as he feared I would, but I also found it difficult to reverse that reaction.

Remus arose off the mattress slowly. I found his expression frustrating-- always that emotionless mask. His voice was low and dangerous when he said, "You have no right to judge me for what goes on here. You put me here."

The words stung me physically, and I felt a rush of real despair. Instinctively I curled in on myself, bringing my forehead against my knees.

"I didn’t tell you this to make you feel guilty," Remus said softly. His usual softness had returned to his voice. "I’m sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have told you at all."

"If you didn’t want to make me feel guilty, why did you tell me?" My voice dripped with bitterness. I felt sure that Remus simply wanted to hurt me.

When Remus didn’t answer my question, I looked up. He was watching me with a deep sadness. "Well?" I snapped.

"You really can’t guess?" he asked.

"No I fucking can’t guess," I snarled. I was tired of being toyed with.

Remus sighed and looked around the room. His eyes rested on a small barred window overhead. "I told you because I love you," Remus answered at a whisper. "I love you and I don’t want to keep secrets from you."

If there had been anything capable of dissolving the intense mixture of anger-fear-confusion that was boiling up slowly inside of me, it was those words. My muscles un-bunched. My heart was hammering still, but I flopped back onto the mattress. The old rusted cot creaked and groaned in protest. Remus reclined slowly down next to me. Shoulder-to-shoulder we barely fit.

"Are we going to be okay?" Remus asked. I heard a strange emotion in his voice, something I didn’t associate with Remus: fear. He had made himself as vulnerable as possible, and I had not reacted well.

"Yeah," I sighed. "I--"

"It’s not your fault," he reiterated. "Don’t apologize."

"I wasn’t going to," I answered. "I was going to tell you... I love you, too."

Remus’s hand shot out and grasped mine where it lay on my stomach. We stayed that way for a long while-- perhaps half an hour-- before the guards knocked and we were parted for another fortnight.

I have to confess that I spent most of that fortnight lost in a vivid nightmare. When I closed my eyes, violent images flashed before them. Was Remus with someone right now? The question nagged me night and day. I began to seriously consider whether there wasn’t some time travel answer to be had here. Evans was smart, though-- surely if there were one she would have found it?

The very next visit, I finally asked the one question that had been nagging me above all others. "If I could go back in time," I started, but before I could finish, Remus was already shaking his head. "Why not? I mean, I know it may not be possible, but if I could--"

Remus was laughing at me when he interrupted. "Are you so sure of yourself that you believe you can predict all possible outcomes of any action and choose the best one? You better be careful, that’s a step away from claiming to be God."

"Not the best," I protested. "Maybe just a better one."

"How do you know this isn’t the better one?" Remus’s eyes still twinkled in amusement. I imagined he would have made a good professor; the Socratic method seemed Remus’s natural refuge in any hypothetical conversation. I gave up, somewhat mollified at least by the fact that Remus had rejected the idea of time travel just as I knew he would. Remus nudged me with his shoulder, smiling brightly. "Tell me about this Star Wars thing again."

I grinned back. "Return of the Jedi was brilliant, but it wasn’t really as good as the last one..."

\------

There were times I thought to envy James and Lily, honestly. They could see each other every day, sleep together every night. I hoped that they didn't take these things for granted, even though I suspected that they did.

I took nothing for granted-- not sound of rain on my windows or the feel of a warm shower at the beginning of the day. Most everything that was a part of my daily experience was not a part of Remus's, and how could I forget that? I thought of him almost to the exclusion of all else.

Sometimes, I thought of him with the others-- I thought of Calendula or whatever he had been called, thought of the faceless men and women whom Remus had to keep under control. There was no tool available for him besides his body, and I understood that he had to use it, but I didn't like it in the least. These were the thoughts that made me turn to drink. My choices were likewise limited to the tools available to me, and alcohol was a handy one.

Once, I did get the nerve to ask Remus if he had loved Calendula. I remember his response vividly. He laughed through his head back and laughed. "Crudelis I suppose you mean?"

"Whatever," I shrugged, trying to not sound like a petulant child at having been laughed at-- and probably failing.

"Merlin, no," Remus answered. "I didn’t even like him. I might have celebrated his death except he managed to screw me over even then."

I felt a weight lift from my chest. "Has there ever been anyone else?" I asked. "I mean, someone you cared about."

Remus shook his head. "Where is all this insecurity coming from suddenly?" He was smiling, teasing, but I did sense real concern and tenderness underneath it.

I simply elbowed him, feeling as thought I had been caught naked and vulnerable.

It’s hard to believe how long we maintained this status quo in retrospect. Years passed-- actual years! I bought rings. Remus was not allowed to wear one, but I wore his on a chain around my neck. When people asked, I told. I was not ashamed.

Eventually I did make some real friends-- mostly young singles around my neighborhood. We would go out to eat together occasionally, or catch a show. I liked being around them-- for a few hours I could forget how much I missed Remus. But, as happens when you get older, they began to find spouses of their own and to settle down. I was always invited to their dinner parties, but I soon tired of being alone amongst happy couples and stopped accepting the invites.

With the passing of years, though, I also found I couldn’t ignore Remus’s failing health. He had never looked quite as healthy as I would have liked to see him, but the more time that passed, the harder this became to ignore. We always talked around it, but it was a third companion in our small cinder-block room, and we couldn’t ignore it forever.

Nevertheless, I did try to do just that. I was worried that reality might overwhelm me. Remus mentioned it first. He simply sighed, groaned, and muttered, "I hate this. I’m always tired."

"I would give you some of my energy if I could," I answered. "I find myself with too much of it and nothing to do."

Remus laughed, but the laugh was followed by the hoarse cough he had developed in the last couple months. He curled against me on the cot and in moments he was asleep. I didn’t want to waste our time together this way, but I didn’t have the heart to wake him either.

I always brought him food as well. I didn’t like how thin he looked, but though he ate some, he didn’t each much. His weight never did recover. Instead, he shrank before my eyes, visit after visit, month after month.

I finally did get up the courage to ask him whether he had seen any healers. He shrugged one shoulder an answered, "The camp has excellent healers actually. But this is beyond them."

"Beyond them? How?"

"It’s a new Muggle disease, totally unlike anything they’ve seen before."

"Well then maybe a Muggle healer--"

Remus shook his head. "They’re as stumped as everyone else."

"How do you know?" I asked defensively. "How do you know they aren’t just telling you that?"

"Maybe they are," Remus offered, "But I doubt it. It’s not just me, Sirius. It’s everyone in the camp. They say it’s spread through sex, and that’s something we’ve no lack of."

"Is that why-- the condoms?" I asked. My heart was pounding. I couldn’t believe we were actually discussing this candidly for the first time.

Remus nodded and let his head drop back against the wall. He looked exhausted. I promised him that I would find a cure when I left that day.

My promise, of course, was completely in vain. Remus wasn’t wrong. There was a new Muggle disease spread by sexual contact, and it seemed to vex every expert in the world, Muggle and Magical. There was nothing at all I could do, and I felt my frustration bone-deep.

I was left watching Remus waste away with nothing I could do. It’s a terror I really wouldn’t wish on even my worst enemies. Every month I became concerned about whether he would make it through this Full Moon, yet after every Full he showed up at our visits. he did not look well, though. He slept more, and I would let him. We talked. Our sex life died; I think he didn’t have the energy. I would often recall to him all the years we’d had, the conversations and jokes and the birdsong through the small windows. By that time, nineteen ninety, we’d been together for six and a half years. He’d been in the camp for nearly fifteen, and I knew that asking for more time when we’re already had so much was selfish. That didn’t keep me from asking all the gods in the pantheon. As expected, they did not answer.

The owl came on the first of January, nineteen ninety-one. The Full Moon had had the indecency to fall on the last day of the year and as soon as I heard the tapping on the glass I knew what it was. I tried to ignore the owl for a bit, but I had to open the window when I felt sure he would break it with frustration if I ignored him any longer. I gave him a bit of biscuit and took the letter that ended my life as I knew it. He didn’t wait for a reply, but I had none to give. Remus was dead, and the only comfort I had was that by law they were transferring his body to me for burial.

Things moved quickly after that. I knew my life truly was over. People who call themselves my friends have said to me that I’ll recover, or that I’ll find someone else. I don’t know why they consider this encouragement. All I hear when they say this is that they think I’ll forget Remus and forget what he meant to me. No; I have made my decisions already.

I did hold a funeral. My old friends came, but they had nothing to say about someone they had never met. I invited James and Evans, and they came as well. They said nothing to me. Their little boy walked sullenly behind them, probably wondering why he was dressed in a black robe for a man he also had never known. Dumbledore also paid his respects. He shook my hand and patted my shoulder but said nothing of importance to me. I guess I had been expecting some words of wisdom from the old wizard, but maybe he knew there was nothing that could help. Remus was lowered into the ground on an open field in the abbey cemetery in Brownhills. Maybe I should have taken him away from that place, but it meant too much to me.

And that brings us to present day. Remus’s funeral was a week ago Tuesday. I don’t intend to leave him alone for long, but I didn’t want to leave without telling our story. I have no idea what for, honestly. I doubt anyone will care, but it was something I had to do. Now it’s written. My work here is done. The potion is already brewing, and my hope is that by the time you read this I will be back in Brownhills with Remus, where I have always belonged.


End file.
